


Pitchers and Catchers

by sdwolfpup



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Farscape, Hard Core Logo (1996), Sleepy Hollow (TV), due South
Genre: Baseball, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five baseball vignettes, in five different fannish universes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitchers and Catchers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brynnmck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/gifts).



> For my darling Brynn McK on the happy occasion of her birthday. Thanks for everything. <3 (I apologize for any serious baseball errors!)

**1\. Joe Dick (p)/Billy Tallent (c), HCL**

“The fuck is he doing?” Billy murmured under his breath as Joe waved off the knuckleball call for the third time. Billy gave the sign again, nearly jamming his fingers into the dirt for emphasis. Joe flipped him the bird.

“TIMEOUT,” the umpire shouted when Billy stood abruptly and surged to the mound. The air was heavy with heat, and Billy swiped at his forehead. 

“What the fuck's your problem?” he said, trying to keep his voice low. 

“I'm not throwing this guy a fucking knuckleball, I don't care how many times you signal it.”

“Fuck you, he can't hit these.”

Joe sneered. “Did your 'tape study' tell you that?”

“You're an asshole.”

“And you're a cunt but I don't let that stop me from sucking your dick every night.”

Billy's face went hot. “Shut up,” he hissed. 

“What, thinking of my mouth around you too distracting?” Joe laughed when Billy hesitated in answering, tripped up as he was by the fact that the thought _was_ distracting. “Tell you what – I think this guy will bite on a curve ball. If he does, then you have to suck me off in the locker room. If he doesn't, then, shit, whatever you want.”

Billy tightened his free hand into a fist. He wanted to punch Joe hard in the face. He wanted to kiss Joe hard on the lips. He usually felt both of those things about Joe Dick. “If he doesn't, then you have to do tape study with me first thing tomorrow morning.”

Joe blinked, and Billy thought – with more glee than he expected – that Joe might just call this bet off and go with the knuckleball. But Joe's ego was just as big as Billy's, so he nodded and said “Yeah, alright.”

The batter hit a walk-off homer on the curveball. They compromised by Billy giving Joe a blowjob while they studied tape the next morning. 

 

**2\. Ray Vecchio (p)/Benton Fraser (c), due South**

“I don't like this, Benny.”

“Ray.”

“He's got that look in his eye, like he knows exactly what pitch is coming up.”

“Ray.”

“He already hit that homer offa me in the fifth.”

“Ray.”

“Maybe it's time to bring in the reliever.”

“ _Ray_.” Vecchio finally pulled his faraway gaze back to Fraser's face. “I believe in you, Ray. One more out, and then you can rest, secure in a job done completely and well.” Fraser held the ball out to him. “You can do this.”

Ray took a deep breath and took the ball. “No Eskimo stories, Benny?”

“Well,” Fraser said, smiling slightly, “they don't play a lot of baseball in the Northwest Territories. Although there is a game my friend Erik once introduced me to that involved swinging dead otters-”

“Nope, no, I'm good.” Fraser saw the last tension ease from Ray's body, and the way his eyes sharpened as he stared down the batter. “Gimme some fastball calls, Benny. I'm gonna nail this guy.”

 

**3\. Abbie Mills (c)/Ichabod Crane (p), Sleepy Hollow**

“Which position should I play, Ms. Mills?” 

Abbie looked Ichabod up and down, pondering. Only two slots were left on the squad softball team. All that tall length smushed into a catcher's position seemed unlikely, and he had no idea what he was doing anyway, so she said, simply, “pitcher.” 

Ichabod nodded like he knew what that meant. 

“You throw the ball to the batters,” she added. “But you want to throw so it's in a certain zone but they miss it.”

“I...see.”

Abbie laughed, sliding her arm through his and walking him to the mound. “I'll show you the basics,” she said. He smelled of that fresh soap scent she'd grown so accustomed to, and it tickled her down to her toes when he patted her hand gratefully. 

“I'm afraid I would be lost without you, Lieutenant.” 

“I know, Crane, but I love you anyway.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, his grip tightening on hers for a moment. “Indeed.”

 

**4\. John Crichton (c)/Aeryn Sun (p), Farscape**

“Here batter batter batter, here batter,” John said, slamming his fist into his catcher's mitt. Well, it was sort of a catcher's mitt, the best he could drum up out here in the ass end of space. 

“Is the prattle necessary?” D'Argo grumbled, his hands choking the bat so hard John was afraid he'd just snap the weird plastic tube they were using. 

“It's key, my man. _Key._ ”

D'Argo huffed but took the position John had shown him. “I will hit this boil all the way to Marzakas.”

John sighed. “Ball, not boil.”

“Oh, right. Ball.”

“Come on pitcher, let's see some stuff!” John called. He signaled Aeryn to throw a fastball. She frowned at him. He made the signal again. She frowned even harder. “Hold up,” he said, heading towards her. He pulled the hastily crafted wire mask off his head. “What's the face for?”

Aeryn blinked. “What?”

“Your face. Why are you looking like that? Did you forget the signals?”

“No, that's a speed-”

“Fast.”

“Fastball. But it makes no sense. D'Argo has lightning reflexes, he will be able to hit it easily.”

“Not if you put it in the corner of the box.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You know,” John gestured vaguely, “you just, do it. Aim well.”

“Aim well?” John was surprised he couldn't actually see the disbelief dripping from her.

“Yeah, you're a trained-from-birth warrior, right? Use that to your advantage.” He moved behind her, leaning his head forward so his chin rested on her shoulder, his lips to her ear as they both looked towards D'Argo. He gently put his hand over hers and, when she didn't resist, moved her arm into a semblance of a throwing position. “Take the ball, find the corner, and,” he moved forward, their bodies sliding a step forward together in harmony, their arms extending, “throw,” he whispered. 

She shivered against him, and he decided baseball could use some more full body contact. He'd have to keep this in mind when he made it back to earth. 

“Aim well,” she murmured, and her ass shifted back against him enough that he thought maybe he'd have to call an extended timeout on the game. 

“Come on you two,” Chiana yelled from the designated outfield back by the shipping crates, “if you're not gonna invite all of us then save it for after the game!”

John was close enough he could feel Aeryn's cheeks pull back into a smile. John kissed her hair quickly and moved back, patting her on the ass as stepped away and pulled the wire mask back down. “Let's play some ball!” he shouted. 

God, he loved baseball. 

 

**5\. Lee Adama (c)/Kara Thrace (p), BSG**

Lee couldn't remember who had discovered the game and taught their dorm to play it, but he knew Kara was going to be the pitcher the second they all figured out what each position did. 

He caught for her through most of their time at the Academy, until Zak decided he'd rather do it and, well, Lee felt weird enough about the whole thing that he just stopped playing entirely. Now here they were again, Starbuck and Apollo sending silent signals to each other with a batter in-between, except this time they were in the hanger of an old battleship, using equipment scrounged from the last remnants of humanity. 

Still, it felt right to watch the deep crease in Kara's forehead when she was leaning in and concentrating on the pitch he was signaling; the short, sharp no when she sometimes disagreed; the carefully tamped delight when he came up with a particularly nasty suggestion. They almost never disagreed on calls, a fact that had initially surprised Lee when they'd first started playing together. He'd assumed Kara would always want to make the choice her own, but she'd been eager for his suggestions, the ideas he'd had about ways to make her pitching better. She'd been downright giddy when he'd showed her what a changeup was. She, of course, had made it her own, made it better, made it one of her many tools that she proudly laid out without hesitation. 

He couldn't tell sometimes whether he loved her confidence or her competence more. 

“You awake over there?” she shouted at him now, and he grinned under the extremely unwieldy pilot's helmet they'd had to settle on as a catcher's mask. 

He flipped the visor up. “I would be if you could get your ass to the mound quicker. We're in space, Starbuck, not quicksand.”

“Frak you,” she said, happily, and he flipped the visor back down. 

“Get a room,” Chief muttered behind him. Lee flipped him off, and then used that finger to signal Kara.

She nodded, bit her lip, wound back, and delivered a fastball that left his palm stinging through the thin, worn out piece of leather Callie had engineered into a glove. 

Starbuck pumped her fist in the air while Racetrack let out an aggrieved groan and barely stopped herself from flinging the bat down. 

“Hah, Team Toaster Killers wins again,” Starbuck shouted. She ran towards Lee and jumped in his arms just as he stood, sending them both toppling to the ground. “Undefeated, baby!” she shouted in his face, straddling his chest. 

Lee huffed a laugh and held up his hand for a high-five, which she gave so hard that hand stung, too. He wondered if he'd still feel the phantom pain of those stings when he was jerking himself off in the shower later, thinking about that blinding smile on her face. “Get off me, Starbuck, you don't want to kill your catcher.”

She laughed and jumped up, pulling him with her. “You better get used to it, Apollo, I expect to win the rest of our games and I can't win without you.” 

He couldn't help it: he straightened, somehow made prouder by her need of him in an ultimately pointless game. 

But when he looked around he saw the friendly ribbing going on, the smiles on their teammates, the ridiculous victory dance Hot Dog was doing over by third base. For a few hours every week, they came together over a game, laughed and argued and battled in a space where no one was going to die, no morally devastating decisions would have to be made beyond which post-game snacks they could afford to steal from the galley. He'd even caught sight of his father and Tigh drifting around the edges once or twice, watching them with a look Lee hadn't seen on the Admiral's face since Lee was a boy. And here was Kara, verbally dancing with Racetrack about that last strike, her face shining with sweat and the pure, sweet joy of an uncomplicated win. 

Lee pulled off his mitt, gathered the things together as everyone started drifting away, making promises for next week's game. He tucked the balls into a bag, stored everything in the big crate with “BASEBALL EQUIPMENT” painted in huge letters on the top, and shut it reverently. Lee couldn't remember who'd discovered the game for them, but he knew that that person was saving their lives, here across the years and the apocalypse. No one got a trophy, but instead they got this: a reason to hang on for another week, to get together and play a game.


End file.
